by Moore, TJ
“I just finished tidying up in here a few hours before you got here. This is where the first half of the workers stay.” Sheri opened the brown door to the adjacent room. “And, this is where the other half stay. These rooms are co-ed, but so far we haven’t had any problems.”
Snoring and heavy breathing filled the air since this second sleeping quarters was occupied by twenty sleeping workers.
“Let’s just leave them be there. I saw you coming on the TV, so I’ve got a bunk all ready just for you. We’ll start you on the day shift for now. We rotate every two weeks, for a little variety. The Leader set it up this way so that there’s a group up and working at all times. Besides, when they’re down there, they can’t tell if it’s day or night anyhow. So, before you hit the hay, there’s one more procedure we need to accommodate. Hobble yourself down there to the parlor couch. Stan will be up in a few minutes to help you get your tracker.” She patted Cameron on the shoulder. “It’s a big step. I’ve got to refill a few supplies in the bathroom, so I shall see you bright and early in the morning.” She went to the closet and filled her arms with supplies.
Cameron limped down the stairs and walked past the living room couch and into the entryway to the house.
He was alone again.
Studying the room with more focus, Cameron now noticed a few more security cameras mounted in the corners of the room. He looked up towards one camera perched just above a leafy-green fake plant, but swiftly turned his gaze once the camera’s motor increased the zoom. He turned his back to the camera, and walked slowly forward, peering into the foyer connected to the living room. But as he moved, Cameron could feel the camera tracking his every move, following his body like a prudent owl watching its prey.
As he walked into the foyer, Cameron’s urgency to escape turned into frustration.
The front door was bolted shut with four different locking structures. One of the systems involved several interlocking gears that only turned for the proper keypad code. The modern locks appeared out of place compared to the muddy operation below the property. As he gazed upon the advanced locks and bolts, Cameron began to lose hope that he would ever escape the gaudy floral upholstery.
He imagined himself eating nothing but Rabbit stew for the rest of his days while he stared into space reciting the etched letters on the brass plaque:PEACE FROM JUSTICE. JUSTICE FROM KNOWLEDGE. KNOWLEDGE FROM TEAMWORK.As the words bounced around in his mind, he made a promise to himself that he would never utter the words aloud.
A large grandfather clock near the front door showed the time as 1:30AM.
Cameron leaned forward towards the small diamond shaped window in the front door and gazed out. The rain from before had stopped completely, and a portion of moonlight highlighted the silky pine needles. Through the overlapping pines, he couldn’t see the remains of the vehicle or even the winding highway. The crash now seemed like a distant nightmare. And even in the aftermath of the crash, Cameron put hope in the possibility the SUV would be found, leading the search team into the forest and towards the cottage. He reassured himself that it was only a matter of time before Amy and the rest of the team came to his rescue.
A loud clank broke Cameron’s thoughts as the freight elevator inside the fireplace lifted upward. Cameron looked back into the living room to see Stan, a wonky, resolute man, scuttle out of the fireplace and brush himself off. His stout figure resembled a flushed cranberry, and his walk was that of a bloated crab. He was carrying a steel case, which he placed on the scuffed coffee table. Stan awkwardly gestured for Cameron to sit on the couch.
Cameron knew there was no escaping this place – not tonight. He would have to go along with whatever they wanted. It would be easier that way. He limped to the couch and sat, eyeing the case as Stan unfastened two chrome latches. With hands paused on the case, Stan waited for a moment before opening it.
His voice dipped and slurred like he was unsure of himself; as if speaking was a chore for him. “So, you’ve met Sheri? Just…just a warning, she tends to sugarcoat stuff a lot.” He opened the case. “Loooooooook, I’m not going to do that. I don’t believe in it. It’s just another form of lying. So here’s what I’ve got for you…”
The steel case held a circular chrome device encased in black foam. Stan removed it from the case and held it up.
“This is your tracker. It will monitor your whereabouts at all hours. You are required to wear it on your person every day you are here, and it must be charged every night near your bunk. We’ve provided a cord at your bedside for this purpose.” Stan motioned for Cameron to lift his left leg onto the coffee table. “However, if you try to remove it, a security signal will be sent to our monitoring room, and you will face the consequences.” Stan pressed a button on the side of the round device and a red LED began to blink. “Do you understand?”
Cameron nodded and watched as Stan opened the device and fastened it tightly to his left ankle. Cameron felt his skin pinch between the clasps.
Stan pressed a different button on the opposite side of the device and another LED turned solid green.
“I’m sure Sheri told you my name is Stan. I’m head of security operations for the compound. I was appointed by The Leader upon my arrival due to my experience.” Stan closed the steel case. “It will be simpler for you if you don’t challenge my authority related to security matters. As you’ll learn, I’m usually right, so if you think you’re right, you’re probably mistaken. Am I making myself clear?”
Cameron lowered his leg onto the floor and felt the weight of the chrome anklet. “Yes sir.”
“Then, I’d advise you to get some shuteye before tomorrow. After breakfast, Dallas will give you a full run through of our operations.” Stan stood up and walked towards the fireplace elevator. “Just a word of caution. Never lie to Dallas. He’ll see right through all that. We’re not living all the way out here to go frolicking outside for picnics and ghost stories. We’re here to work. Dallas will give you your assignments and hold you accountable for your work.”
Stan pointed to Cameron’s chrome anklet. “You’re on my grid now. I’ll be watching you. When you move, my computer tracks it every time.” He scuttled back into the freight elevator and pressed the down button. “Get some rest. You’re going to need it.”
Cameron carefully avoided steps twelve and fifteen on the way up to the sleeping quarters. As he lay in the bottom bunk, the snoring in the room was deafening.
He noticed the rusty springs of the bunk just above him when the person on the top bunk rolled over to find a new position. Cameron wondered if he ever would fall asleep, but the trauma from the accident had drained most of his physical energy. If only he could quiet his thoughts enough to drift off.
His mind jumped to Sarah and Jen.
Now, away from them, Cameron realized how empty he felt. They were his two teammates in life. In a way, he thought of them as a combination of his past and his future. No one understood him like his wife. Jen was his rock, his encouragement, and such a source of joy. He’d been a father to Sarah for eleven years, and he wanted many more opportunities to see her grow.
If these series of events separated them for life, it would be unbearable. It would feel like starting over.
There wouldn’t be much to live for if that happened.
It was in that bunk, lying there, that Cameron realized all of the forms of monetary gain he’d so enjoyed throughout his life really carried no weight whatsoever. They were dust in the wind.
Just as Cameron quieted his mind enough to nod off, he sensed a shadowed figure pass over his bed. The pressure in the room changed.
The density of the shadow grew heavier, darker. It passed so slowly, Cameron could feel it gliding over him, sliding over his blankets, his skin. As the shadow moved closer, a shiver went up and down the length of his body, but he dared not tremble too much. Moving at all was risky. The shadow slinked closer while each and every hair on Cameron’s arms prickled, stiffened, and rose, scraping against his
blankets. In the same moment, the soles of his feet released icy sweat.
The shadow was on top of him now. It was suffocating. Reaching. Cameron pretended to be asleep as if this would help, but the shadow moved towards him with an unmatched stealth. Then the shadow covered his face, blocking the thin lines of moonlight that penetrated the boarded windows.
It was the shadow of a man. Cameron could hear him breathing. The man must have been wearing socks since Cameron couldn’t hear any footsteps, but he felt them as they approached.
The man stopped just next to Cameron’s bunk, looking over him, analyzing him before raising a clipboard. Even in the midst of the snoring, Cameron felt the vibrations of the pen on the board as they traveled through the man’s arm, down his body, to the floor, up into the feet of Cameron’s bunk, through the sheets, thread by thread, into his ears.
It occurred to Cameron that this man was not going to hurt him. He was only there to observe. Cameron worried his accelerated heart rate might signal to the man, saying:I’m scared. Write that down.
The shadow eventually passed onto another bunk, and Cameron felt an increasing fear well up in his gut. This time it wasn’t fear. It was his full bladder. Even when the shadow left the room, Cameron waited a few more minutes, just to be safe. When he could hear nothing but the steady symphony of snores, Cameron whipped the blankets off and sat at the edge of the bed. The sweat that beaded on the surface of his skin now reacted to the cooler air, and some of it evaporated.
Flexing his bare feet, he rolled his head around trying to stretch out his neck. He turned his head from side to side and rolled his shoulders back. Cameron tiptoed to the hallway, and as he rounded the corner, he could see the feet of the library guard just barely visible within the doorframe. Cautiously, Cameron kept left in the hall, moving close to the wall. He slipped into the bathroom and closed the door as quietly and gently as he could. He flipped on the lights and leaned onto the sink, staring at his own reflection.
Now alone, he opened his mouth wide to check that he still had all of his teeth. Often, when he was stressed, he’d dream that his teeth had all fallen out. To his relief, every tooth was secure.
He rolled his shoulders again, trying to find comfort from his stiffness. The pen’s scratches on the clipboard just minutes before had started a throbbing headache in his skull. Checking the cabinets for a painkiller, he found rows and rows of pills; but none of the bottles were labeled, and he didn’t want to risk it.
Cameron closed the cabinet and returned his gaze to the mirror. He turned the water on and splashed his face four times. The cold water was refreshing, but it didn’t change anything. Cameron relieved himself and washed his hands before sitting on the floor near the bathroom door.
He didn’t want to fall asleep anymore. A new series of fears entered his mind:What if he never woke up? What were these people going to do to him? Why was he on their grid?
Eventually, these worries crawled back into the crevasses of his mind, and he walked back to the sleeping quarters.
The snoring had not subsided at all, but it wasn’t going to keep him from closing his eyes. He tried to forget his fears and just relax, but Stan’s words echoed in his mind. Cameron dreaded what the next day held in store for him.
TUNNELS
6:00AM. A blaring alarm soundedthrough the upstairs sleeping quarters and the Unit Two workers around Cameron jolted out of bed in military fashion. He was not accustomed to such an immediate and regimented morning routine and still felt sore from the accident the previous night. Tinges of pain throbbed in his extremities, especially in his fingers and toes. Cameron ran his hand down his spine, feeling the tender areas of bruising along certain sets of vertebrae. The wheelbarrow really jacked up the lower muscles in his back, making it difficult to sit up from the bunk.
Pairs of Unit Two feet scuffled around, and Cameron could see a shower line forming in the hallway. The workers already had a change of clothes in hand. Sheri was handing them each a bar of soap.
“Move it along…no more than two minutes per person,” she said motioning downstairs. “I’ve got warm sticky buns in the oven for y’all. First come, first serve.”
Sheri swung a kitchen towel over her shoulder and descended back down the staircase.
As Cameron walked down the stairs, he noticed the swelling in his ankle had dramatically decreased, making it easier to control the articulation of his individual toes again, therefore improving his overall balance.
Before long, the aromatic smell of the warm honey-glazed sticky buns drew the workers downstairs. Each of the workers pressed their hand against the brass plaque before entering the dining room.
When his turn came, Cameron moved his hand over the plaque without touching it, afraid that if he did, he’d be irreversibly brainwashed into the bizarre cottage community.
Now seated around the dining room table just off the kitchen, tired eyes darted to and fro as the crew eagerly waited for the gooey pleasures of breakfast.
Cameron looked from face to face, seeing only nameless strangers. Although, some of them seemed vaguely familiar as if he’d encountered them in a dream. (He had actually seen some of them on the news as the missing person cases had piled up over the last two years. He even recognized a few of them from the pictures Amy had posted on the evidence board earlier that week.)
He started to turn his eyes down to the tiny scratches on the table when he caught a glimmer of a familiar face. The blinking eyes caught his gaze and squinted in recognition.
Still unsure if the room before him was physically present or simply a persuasive waking dream, Cameron closed his eyes and looked again. The familiar face smiled at him, turning her head while at the same time tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
It was the warm glow of the woman’s face that assured Cameron he wasn’t dreaming. And her tired smile grew more familiar to him the longer he looked. The smile belonged to Melanie Garcia – the Spanish teacher who lived just down the street from Cameron back in his regular life. She’d been listed as missing only a few months ago.
Without her glasses, Melanie looked almost unrecognizable, but her straight, black hair and radiant smile gave away her identity. Cameron returned her smile with a look of surprise and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Seated among the other strangers, he didn’t want to reveal his recognition of Melanie Garcia. Sheri’s vague warnings from the night before taught him to be cautious.
He wanted to tell Melanie that her twin boys were happy and healthy, living their lives with a gaping void where their mother used to be. He wanted to tell her how they still laughed and played with Sarah some weekends. Staring at Melanie across the table, Cameron desperately wanted tell her that the twins still carried joy in her absence, that all was not lost, that there was some basis for hope if she ever got out of this place – a hope to see her family again.
In their silent gaze, Cameron could tell Melanie understood him. Though no words were spoken, Melanie’s eyes reflected understanding, and she tilted her head ever so slightly, displaying her relief to see a familiar face.
Then, with a spring in her step, Sheri glided from the kitchen carrying a large tray of steaming sticky buns and teased the crew by circling the room before placing the tray in the center of the table.
Chaos ensued on the tray as elbows shoved and hands jolted forward, grabbing two at a time. Only about ten of the workers were successful at this game of reflexes, and Cameron, seated at the end of the table, missed his chance.
Luckily, Sheri sang out from the kitchen, “There’s more where that came from! Another pan comin’ right up.” She swirled a large tray into the dining room that included more sticky buns along with an array of fresh fruit.
The grabbing frenzy was just as intense, but this time, Cameron reached with success. Orange juice, milk, and apple juice flowed freely as the crew strengthened themselves for the day ahead.
After a few minutes of snarfing, satisfied belches rolled across t
he dining room. Cameron suspected the almost prison-like circumstances had stripped some of these people from their social manners. Their behavior seemed like the Flintstones at a buffet.
After breakfast, some of the Unit Two crewmembers hung out for a while in the living room while a few others finished showering upstairs. Cameron and Melanie stayed in the dining room to help Sheri cleanup.
While Sheri filled the sink in the kitchen with the first round of dishes, Cameron grabbed plates off the table. Melanie collected the glasses and silverware.
“I can’t believe you’re here!” Melanie whispered, glancing to the kitchen as the running water obscured some of their conversation.
“Me?” Cameron leaned across the table, holding the stack of plates against his chest. “Melanie, I thought you were…”
“Missing? Dead?”
“Or worse.”
“It’s a relief to see you too,” she said.
“Hey,” Cameron eyed the kitchen. “Have...have you seen my wife?”
“Jennifer? No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, I’m absolutely sure she’s not here. Sheri keeps an up-to-date list of the workers in both units just around the corner.”
“She went missing. I was looking for her when my vehicle crashed.”
“God, Cameron. Even Jennifer? What is happening?”
“I wish I knew. I really do. Anyway, I’m glad you’re okay. It’s good to see you.”
“Okay?” Melanie dumped some remaining orange juice into one of the glasses. “I’m not okay, Cameron. Nobody here is okay.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Four months. I’ve been here four months now.”